


Seize My Means of Reproduction: The Sentient Manifestation Of Communism Pounds My Gay Tankie Ass

by funnypoopies



Category: The Centricide (Webseries)
Genre: Bread, Communism, IM SORRRY, M/M, Weird cocks, idk what do you want from me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-30
Updated: 2020-10-30
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:13:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27280990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/funnypoopies/pseuds/funnypoopies
Summary: summary in the title dont come for me
Relationships: communism/oc
Comments: 10
Kudos: 25





	Seize My Means of Reproduction: The Sentient Manifestation Of Communism Pounds My Gay Tankie Ass

**Author's Note:**

> yes this is titled like a chuck tingle novel, shoutout to my boy, buy pounded in the butt by my own butt and his first full length novel trans wizard harriet porber and the bad boy some sort of dinasour-ous

After another long day of owning the libs and white knighting for Mao and Stalin, I made my way to my Marx shrine with my daily offering of bread. 

Surprisingly, the bread disappears without fail every night. I’m not a religious person (religion is counter-revolutionary), but I believe that it’s some higher presence (most likely Daddy Marx or Mommy Lenin). My mother says it’s the rats because her basement, that I live in, is full of them. But I want to believe anyway. 

Because sometimes, it’s hard being a communist. Everyone who’s not a self-proclaimed communist thinks I’m literally advocating for the USSR (not like I’m not, but their vision of 40s Russia is skewed to say in the least), and everyone who claims to be a communist is a filthy revisionary. I mean, they don’t even care what Lenin would have to say about trans people and sex workers.

I look at my beautiful shrine as I prepare for bed by faithfully annotating my already well-worn copy of Das Kapital: Volume 1. As the gentle candlelight from my shrine flickers in the background, I drift off to sleep. 

I am rudely, and rather unceremoniously awakened by the crunching of bread. I turned over, my eyes still heavy with sleep. Is it the ghost of Daddy Marx? Or is it just the rats my mother told me about? 

Nothing could prepare me for the sight I saw before me. Leaning on the wall beside my shrine is the most beautiful man I have ever seen in my life, chowing down on the lovingly prepared slice of bread. I can’t help but stare at his perfectly chiseled abs and jawline, and his gorgeous hair under a rather crudely made ushanka. He’s wearing a trenchcoat without any shirt and the most ridiculous combat boots I have ever seen. He looks… oddly familiar but my sleep-deprived mind can’t seem to make sense of why or connect him to anymore. My jaw drops silently, and finally the gorgeous stranger catches wind of my lustful gazing. 

Embarrassed, he whips around, nearly dropping his bread in the process. 

“Ah, comrade, you’re awake. I am here to talk to you about communism,” he says in a thick if not somewhat inaccurate Russian accent. 

I look up at him, starry eyed. “So it’s been you who’s been eating my bread,” I say, nodding. 

“Well, not exactly. This is first time I have come, comrade. But you recognise me, nyet?” 

I squint, neurons firing off in my brain in an attempt to put this whole bizarre situation together. Suddenly, it all falls in place. 

“You’re political satire Youtuber Jreg, also known as Greg Guevara, aren’t you?” I reply. 

He shakes his head. “Not exactly, milaya. I am not affiliated with Jreg in any way, he is cringe fencesitter. I am sentient manifestation of communism and I am here to reward you for your tireless praxis.” 

My cheeks flush involuntarily. Reward… How exactly? 

“Then why do you look like him?” 

He chortles wholeheartedly and looks back at me. “You see, I come to comrades in the form most appealing to them. So it is your issue that you simp for mediocre man like that, da?” 

I blush, my face reddening. “B-but, why do you speak like Jreg’s character then? Why do you splatter gratuitous Russian text?” 

“It simply makes it easier for uneducated people to recognise me as the one, the only communism. I embody every stereotype that exist about Communists: I am Russian and Chinese and Jewish, all at same time, and obviously, I am homosexual.” 

I can’t believe this. He’s like a wet-dream come true, so much so that it’s unsettling. “That’s impossible. You’re just a strawmanned version of this ideology.” 

“So are you,” he says, gaze settling around my Communism shrine. “And that’s exactly why I want you. You are going to fuck me, and you are going to assimilate into me. You are going to become communism.” 

I scoff, skeptical. “That’s ridiculous. Just believing in something strongly doesn’t make me any less of a person, if that’s what you’re trying to say. There’s no line between an ‘idealogue’ and a ‘person’. Your beliefs are you, they reflect the sort of person you are. You’re not just an extension of your beliefs, rather, it’s the other way around.” 

“Good point comrade but you know that’s not always true. They have more circular relationship, nyet? People shape themselves around religion all the time. It could be same for politics don’t you think? In any case, you do want to fuck, da? This might be your only chance, you are a Jreg fan after all. And jreg fan is just synonym for virgin,” he chuckles. 

I look down in shame. He’s right. I am a cringe Jreg fan, and a hopeless commie. No one is ever going to bang me. My dick is already half-hard just from looking at him, listening to his sultry, assertive voice. Against my better judgment and longevity, I accept his proposal. 

“Alright… Let’s do it… Let’s,” I pause, eyes averting his gaze in embarrassment. “Fuck.” 

Instantly, he pulls down his pants, revealing a sizable bulge. It’s glowing red, which I’m pretty sure isn’t normal. Additionally, his pisshole is shaped like a tiny hammer and sickle. I wonder if his ejaculate comes out like play-dough out of those funnily shaped holes. For what it’s worth, it’s kind of hot though. Banging my own political beliefs. 

I take off my shirt and boxers too, and the sentient manifestation of communism hums appreciatively. 

“Nice cock comrade,” he smirks. “A little on the small side, but your balls have delicate asymmetry and you’re surprisingly well groomed for someone who never gets sex.” 

“Thanks,” I blush at the lewd compliment. 

Instinctively, I get on my knees and open my mouth to let his dick in. In return, I get my cheek slapped with a large serving of the people’s cock. 

“You’re such a slutty little gay little commie little twink,” he murmurs, before shoving his cock far down my throat. 

He’s not gentle, he’s pulsing with revolutionary fervour. I feel an uprising happen in my own pants as he slides in and out of my mouth. I’m more turned on than I’ve ever been in my life. He’s just using me as a tool to further the international proletariat revolution and I love every second of it. 

His cock seems to be glowing redder and redder by the minute, and mine is almost painfully erect. As much as I love sucking him off, I want to get off too. 

He releases his iron grip on my hair as I part from his monster dong, breathless. 

I bend over the bed, presenting my gay asshole to him.

“I want it in my ass,” I pant, “Seize my means of reproduction.” 

He grips my ass, teasing me with the tip. Slowly, he presses into the depths of my hot buttcheeks and breaks past the ring of muscle. I cry out in a mix of pleasure and pain. 

He thrusts into me slowly, but firmly. Frustrated and sexually repressed, I exclaim, “Harder! Treat me like I’m a naughty little kulak who needs to be taught a lesson and have their property distributed for the good of the masses!” 

He happily obliges, ramming in and out of me with a renewed vengeance. I moan uncontrollably and he slams a hand over my mouth to silence me. As we come together, I shut my eyes and see nothing but red. My body feels like it’s melting into some sort of tankie void; I cum harder than I ever have in my life. Not only am I sexually stimulated, but I am also touched emotionally. All my life, I’d wanted a higher purpose, to feel like part of something. Something more than petty twitter feuds and back and forths on reddit. And now, my wish is finally coming true. 

I turn around to face him, watching his red cum drip out of my gay ass. It doesn’t faze me. Red is now my favourite colour. It's always been my favourite colour. 

He cups my face, not aggressively like before but gently and lovingly. This isn’t the touch of someone who is just using me. It’s a lover’s touch, the touch of someone who truly cares about me and wants me more than anything in the world. Slowly, sensually, we close the gap between us. 

I close my eyes. I feel myself melting, melting into him like two balls of wax being heated in a pot and stirred gently. Red, red, I see red. 

Sensual, powerful red. Beautiful red. Revolutionary red. Red. Where I begin and end.

**Author's Note:**

> no i do not accept constructive criticism, yes this is just embarrassing. i can disown this work but i cant disown myself


End file.
